


Raising Hope

by flinchflower



Series: Slash Me Twice [19]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Heart-to-Heart, Implied Relationships, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-30
Updated: 2011-10-30
Packaged: 2017-10-25 02:01:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/270493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flinchflower/pseuds/flinchflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt 19: City.  John hears Sam get up alone at dawn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Raising Hope

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Not for profit, simply a writing exercise. Herein lies Dean/Sam slash, in an AU timeline where John did not lose his life. John appears in parental context only. Follows in series from previous prompts, but stands alone if preferred.

Sam stands at the kitchen window watching the sunrise, about jumps a mile when John walks up behind him.

“Something out there, Sam?” His father’s voice is dark, and Sam turns with some surprise.

“No, Dad.” He’s quiet, thinking about the nightmares that woke him up, that wake him up so frequently. Dean didn’t rouse this time, exhausted by recent events, and so Sam simply slipped out of bed, using the same Winchester stealth that John just startled him with. John grunts in reply, swiping a tired hand across his eyes, starts the coffee. Sam watches light spilling over the tree branches, and finally turns. John’s studying him, watching quietly.

“You boys fight?”

Sam shakes his head. “He’s tired out, I didn’t want to wake him.”

“Why are you up, Sam.” John’s voice carries that tone that every parent’s does at such times. He’s worried and annoyed, all rolled into one, and he knows he’s got to step careful with this one, because there’s something in Sam’s eyes that tells him it’s not an option to bully the boy back upstairs and into his bed.

“Couldn’t sleep,” comes the soft rumble of Sam’s reply, not defensive, but not inviting of more questions, either. He studies his father, and a smile quirks his face. “You still wake up when one of us is up, don’t you.”

John chuckles. “I can’t help it. Maybe not so much when we’re on the road, and we’re tired, but yeah.” He sees the worry ghost across Sam’s face. “Hey, buddy.” He sets a pair of mugs out on the table, pours coffee into them, inviting Sam to sit down. Sam takes a sip, makes a face, and John pushes the container of sugar his way, opening the tight seal without thinking before he slides it to his boy. The gesture makes Sam’s eyes crinkle with suppressed laughter, and John laughs for him. “I told you, it’s built in.”

“Dean says so too,” he says shyly. They sit in silence, and Sam knows he’s got to ease John’s worry somehow. “I dreamed about the city,” he says slowly, with some reluctance, and John’s eyes are understanding. “About… about being there with Jess. It doesn’t matter what the dream is about. It always ends the same.”

John’s voice is soft. “I know.” The words are as much a confession as acknowledgment of what Sam’s saying, and he sees the tension start to ease away from his boy. “I don’t always know why the dreams get started.”

It paves the way for a safer conversation. “I do. Dean mentioned something last night from one of the times we were living in the city, instead of out in the boondocks.”

John’s curious. “You like the city better?”

The question makes Sam’s green eyes darken, grow distant. “I thought I did. Until Dean came to get me.” There’s silence for a few minutes before he speaks again. “After I… after I could think again,” He pauses to check that John’s understanding the things he’s trying to leave unsaid, and is relieved to see the compassion of John’s comprehension there. “Once I could think, I was more comfortable when we were out in the woods, out away from towns… Seems like the hunts in the city are the ones that go bad.”

John nods. “Things go that way sometimes.”

“I’m sorry I wanted more.”

“Don’t be. I made mistakes, Sam. Didn’t think to give you boys enough options,” he says quietly, letting his midnight thoughts swim in the air of the kitchen as the room warms under the sun.

“This is what I want,” Sam says, spinning one of Bobby’s knives around on the worn wood of the table. “But I get tired sometimes.”

“Like now,” says John, and it’s not quite a question. His son nods. “We’ll be here for a while, Sam. Bobby wants a hand with a couple of things, I owe it to him.” The boy sags with relief. John doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t think it’s time. The boy’s not cut out to hunt continuous like this. John would rather see him settled somewhere, wishes the network of hunters was bigger, tighter, so there’s less pressure on all of them. It’s a problem he’s not sure he’ll ever solve, though he and Bobby and Jim have talked it over enough. Just like they’ve talked over Sam and Dean, the fact that the boys area going to settle somewhere in a couple of years, because they’ll be the go-to men for younger hunters in another decade. Sam’s sigh brings him out of his thoughts, and he waits.

“Something’s missing, though.”

John nods. For his baby, yeah, something is missing. There’s two different kinds of hunters out there. There’s men like him, who hunt like the soldiers they are (and he wonders sometimes if he should have pushed Dean into a stint in one of the Armed Forces, boy would’ve made a helluva Marine). Then there’s men who hunt with their minds, like Pastor Jim. Jim’s competent with hand to hand, can put a bullet where he wants it to go, but his mind is more suited to research and understanding, and putting broken hunters back together. It’s how he sees his youngest son. It won’t happen for a time, because Sam’s got to work out his grief and anger just like John did, and, John thinks, the boys need time to build the bond between the two of them. Even though John thinks about holding a grandchild some day, though he bats that thought away from himself, because it hurts to think of a third generation being raised as a hunter. He looks at Sam. “We’ll get it figured out, baby.” Sam’s eyes close at the endearment, and the tension’s gone from the boy now. Time to finish the job.

“I know what we need,” John says, rising. He pulls out a couple of containers and heats the griddle up. Sam’s face picks up hopefully, and Bobby wanders into the kitchen, ruffles the boy’s long hair.

“Earlybirds here. John, you got KP handled?” He chuckles when John winks at him. “Good. Sam, you wanna give me a hand with a few things?”

Sam stands up, stretches. “Sure.” The tone of his voice says that John’s done his job right. He smiles a slow smile as the men shrug on jackets, go out to the yard. They’ll feed the critters, haul the day’s wood inside, check the wards. He knows that Bobby will bring the boy back in relaxed, with flushed cheeks. Jim’ll drag Dean downstairs, and the five of them, they’ll sit down to breakfast, and he’ll sit between his boys, smelling the familiar soap and toothpaste scent of Dean in the morning, and revel in the scent of the cold country air that will cling to his baby boy, like the smell of hope.

**Author's Note:**

> Music: Aerosmith - Back in the Saddle


End file.
